


Grateful

by FidgetyWriter



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidgetyWriter/pseuds/FidgetyWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm grateful that the entire species of Super Mutants was created. Because even of the 99.9% that are awful, the .1% FEV got right led to you." Fawkes/F!LW friendship fic. Pure fluff oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grateful

Sara was generally quite a cheerful individual, and Fawkes believed this was why he enjoyed her company so much. She joked with him as she would a human companion, and their playful banter and laughter were welcome joys after decades of imprisonment. However, on some nights, when they’d lit the fire and settled down for the evening, she would climb into her bedroll and completely shut down. He knew it had to do with the loss of her father-whenever James came up in conversation she would comment on how very much she loved him and then grow suddenly quiet. Needless to say, Fawkes tried to avoid the topic.

However, he could tell it was going to be one of those nights when they’d settled down for a supper of iguana bits. They were in the middle of nowhere-the closest landmark was Evergreen Mills, and they were obviously not about to camp there for the night. Sara had lit the fire, speared the iguana bits onto a stick, and begun roasting them without a word. Normally she was chatty over meals, but even Dogmeat tripping over and falling into her bedroll failed to get a chuckle out of her.

They ate in silence. Fawkes enjoyed the quiet lull of the Capital Wasteland at night: the distant scuttling of Radscorpions and the whistling of the wind through the branches of long dead trees were music to his ears after decades of loud clanging and swearing in Vault 87. But he found that he enjoyed the sound of her voice even more because it was so often directed to him alone. 

He’d given one half-hearted attempt to inquire about her feelings as Dogmeat inhaled the last of the iguana bits.

“Are you feeling badly, my friend?”

“No.” The lie was evident in her voice, and they both knew it. She pulled her glasses off and tucked them carefully into her bag before sliding into her bedroll.

“Be sure to put out the fire if you go to sleep,” she reminded him.

“Of course. Sleep well, Sara.”

“Thanks.”

Fawkes watched Dogmeat pace around the campsite a few times before lying down next to Sara. He allowed the Super Mutant a quick pat on the head before doing so, which was certainly an improvement. Fawkes knew the dog was afraid of him, probably because of his large stature and booming voice, but he was grateful for their slow bonding. The deep love between Sara and Dogmeat intrigued him-he had never suspected the bond between human and animal could be so strong.

Dogmeat was suddenly on his feet, licking Sara’s face. She reached up and clung to his wind-blown gray fur. Fawkes realized a new sound had joined the medley of the Wasteland: Sara was crying.

He froze, entirely unsure of how to react. He was no good with emotions. The books he’d read via the Vault computer had given him a vast array of historical, artistic, and philosophical facts, but no book could teach him how to comfort a friend.

His mind raced to find something to say, and he thought back to the times he’d felt so hopeless back in his prison.

“Sometimes when I could find no hope in my prison, I thought of things to be happy about.” A particularly heart-wrenching sob was the only response he received, so he pressed on.

“I am happy for the computer in the Vault and how it gave me my name-“

“I don’t---don’t want to play this game, Fawkes,” she said through sobs and hiccups.

“You are not required to. I am merely listing things I am happy for, such as the sun and the warmth it provides. I am happy for my Gattling laser and how it melts Enclave armor.”

“Dogs,” came a tiny voice from the bedroll after several seconds. “I’m pretty grateful for dogs.”

“They are very useful,” Fawkes agreed, encouraged by her decision to respond to his pitiful attempts to cheer her up.

“And I’m grateful for my hunting rifle.”

“Me too, my friend. I am happy for the wise teachings of man named Buddha. They let me prevail with a calm heart.”

Sara rolled over in her bedroll, so she was facing the Super Mutant and gazed up at him.

“I’m grateful for the Brotherhood of Steel,” she told him. Not wishing to argue with her about how Brotherhood knights often shot at him unless Sara explicitly defended him, he simply nodded.

“I am happy to have to my sledgehammer.” A small laugh escaped her lips and he delighted in the sound of it.

“I bet you are. I’m grateful for how neatly you can take out a rampaging Deathclaw with that thing.”

“I am happy for Galaxy News Radio.” All three of them enjoyed leaving Sara’s Pip-Boy radio on and listening to the rants and hollers of Three Dog or music from a world long lost as they traversed the Wasteland.

“And Three Dog.”

“Yes. I am happy for fire.” He pressed his saucepan-sized hands toward the warmth of the crackling fire next to him.

“And Nuka-Cola. If I have a bottle of that stuff, I don’t need sleep for like a day.”

“And historians for keeping good records for me to read.”

“And Pip-Boys. I’d be dead without this thing.”

“And Rivet City.”

“And Megaton. I even love my dumpy little house there.”

“I am happy for kind-hearted people, like you.”

“I’m grateful for Super Mutants. Every single one of them.” This caught Fawkes off guard and he stared at her.

“But you have had to fight so many,” he protested. “They are very violent.”

“I’m grateful that the entire species of Super Mutants was created. Because even of the 99.9% that are awful, the .1% FEV got right led to you. If you hadn’t mutated you would have died long ago in that Vault, and we would never have met.”

Fawkes felt something very warm and foreign rise in his chest as she told him this. He knew they were not symptoms of a heart attack: he had pored over the medical books in the Vault, fruitlessly searching for some answer to his mutation. Was it affection for this redheaded young woman with thick glasses, a hunting rifle, and a heart of gold? He could replay the moment they’d met in his head with perfect clarity: she’d stared bewildered through the glass and he was so delighted that this human was actually considering his offer that he could have wept.

Sara reached out toward him and instinctively he took her hand in his own, careful not to break her fingers unintentionally. He held on long after she’d fallen asleep and the fire had died, mentally noting that the thing he was happiest for was his companion.


End file.
